


Love be gentle, Love be true

by shewhowritestoomuch



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhowritestoomuch/pseuds/shewhowritestoomuch
Summary: Soulmates are a dangerous thing to have in the nobility of Florence.No one knows this better than Francesco de’ Pazzi, who looks at his forearm in horror when he finds Lorenzo de’ Medici written on his forearm on his sixteenth birthday.
Relationships: Bianca di Piero de' Medici/Guglielmo de' Pazzi, Contessina de' Bardi/Cosimo di Giovanni de' Medici, Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Clarice Orsini, Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi, Piero di Cosimo de' Medici/Lucrezia Tornabuoni
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	1. Francesco

Having a soulmate is a dangerous business in the banking world of Florence.

Francesco realises this when he is 16, and the familiar curves of Lorenzo’s handwriting begin to form on the underside of his forearm. He is a little older than Lorenzo, there are still a few weeks before his rival in every way will get the scrawl that marks Francesco’s hand from everyone else’s.

Or at least that is what Francesco hopes will happen, there are tales of unrequited soulmates, of broken people who are destined to love with all their hearts but not to be loved in return.

His uncle will not approve of such a marriage. It was only made legal by the church very grudgingly during the third Crusade, and even then only because the rhetoric from the east made them seem like utter heretics not to. A match such as this is not strategic past the life of the pair, and it cannot produce heirs, so no doubt the Medici will not approve of it either.

He normally would confide in Guglielmo when faced with a dilema such as this, but his brother has been spending so much time with Bianca de’ Medici that he will no doubt be unable to give any objective advice.

Francesco de’ Pazzi considers the options he has available to him, and being only sixteen, and thus prone to making terrible decisions, decides that using a dagger thrust into a fire to burn off the mark is the best course of action.

Fortunately for Francesco de’ Pazzi, he turns sixteen on a Sunday, and he must go to mass before he can find a dagger, let alone a fire with coals hot enough at this time of day. Fortunately for Francesco de’ Pazzi, Contessina de’ Bardi, matriarch of the house of Medici, is very observant, and sees how carefully he hides his forearm and the furtive looks he throws at Lorenzo. Fortunately for Francesco de’ Pazzi, the wise matriarch has planned for such an eventuality since her grandson was small enough that she could pick him up and hold him on one hip.

So while it may seem like a horrific experience to have a bag thrown over your head and be carried off in an unfamiliar direction, it’s actually the best thing which could happen to Francesco de Pazzi, considering that his other afternoon plans likely would have ended with infection and excruciating pain.

Francesco de’ Pazzi blinks confusedly as the bag is taken off his head. If he is honest, he was not expecting his kidnappers to be so gentle as they took off the bag, nor as they lowered him onto a chair. Nor was he expecting Contessina to be smiling so beatifically at him as she handed him a glass of watered down wine.

“Before I start, I will warn you that regardless of what you choose today, you must return to your uncle’s house at least once.”

Francesco sips the wine and looks around the atrium. It is as beautifully decorated as he remembers, the cold winter sun making the water in the fountain shine. Much like the woman before him, it seems to have fared the decade and a bit since his parents’ deaths better that he has.

“Madonna, you must know that my uncle will never willingly leave me with the Medici.”

“I do, but I also know enough about him to force his hand.”

Francesco considers her. Contessina has always been the brains of the Medici family, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. He remembers how deftly she was able to deal with Jacopo when he was a child, how carefully she managed her son’s meetings after Cosimo’s death. She should be able to help him, yet something within him is profoundly unsettled by the thought of betraying his uncle.

“He raised me after my parents died, kept a roof over my head, fed me. How is it that you can ask so easily for me to betray him?”

“Francesco, he terrorised you, kept you away from the people who cared about your safety. Do you not think that you deserve something better than a man who is yet to let the deeds of an ancestor long dead become less important than the welfare of his wards?”

“Do you not think I deserve something more than to become a shadow in the background of your grandson’s life? If I come here, I forfeit my name, the legacy I could leave behind, the agency I would have from working at the Pazzi bank. Why should I do that?”

Contessina puts down her goblet of wine and shrugged.

“If you don’t want us to help you then I cannot force you to stay here. If you want to return to a house devoid of joy and love, then that is your choice, all that I offer you is a chance to be in a family where you will not have to fear saying the wrong thing. My men can escort you home if you would like.”

Francesco nods and puts down his wine glass, leaving the Palazzo Medici and walking through the streets of Florence with the feeling that he will wake from the strangest dream once he reaches the Palazzo Pazzi.

Instead he arrives home to see his uncle waiting by the door with a dagger in his hand. Jacopo barely gives him second to take in the sight before he grabs Francesco by the collar and drags him towards the only lit fireplace in the palazzo.

“Did you think that you could hide it from me?” Jacopo sneers as he thrusts the dagger into the flames. “That I wouldn’t hear of something so shameful? No Francesco, you’ll not have this for long.”

Francesco tries to crawl away from the fireplace, to get enough distance between him and his uncle that he might reason with the man, but it is futile, his uncle is too strong, and he is at the wrong angle to break free from the grasp. Francesco can do nothing but watch in horror as the knife begins to glow from the heat of the fire and his uncle rips his sleeve away from the rest of his shirt.

“Please,” Francesco whimpers as he looks up at his uncle, “Don’t do this.”

Jacopo de’ Pazzi says nothing as he pulls the dagger out of the fire and presses it against the pale skin of Francesco’s arm.

Francesco’s scream makes enough noise to fill the Palazzo Pazzi without any aid from outside forces.

When Jacopo is convinced that the mark has been completely burnt away he drags Francesco into his bedroom and locks the door.

“I will arrange for you to go to Rome, to take you away from the gossip of the Florentines. Until then you are to stay put.”

Francesco is in too much pain to understand his uncle’s words beyond the fact that he’ll soon be beyond the considerable reach of Contessina de’ Medici. Even through the haze which blurs his every thought, he can tell that is a bad thing. And even though the pain is very close to robbing him of his consciousness, he has enough sense to appreciate that his bedroom is on the ground floor of the palazzo and that it faces the street.

He is not entirely sure how long he wanders the streets of Florence in his disoriented state, or why he finds it so difficult to navigate his way to a house which was once so familiar to him. All he knows is that as he wanders down the hundredth street which he thought would lead to the Palazzo Medici he hears a familiar taunting voice that he never before thought would be welcome in his life.

“Don’t tell me that Jacopo is letting you get drunk before dinner, Francesco?”

It is not quite the Medici he was looking for, but Francesco knows for a fact that Giuliano is a good enough person that if he falls, the younger Medici brother will take him back to the rest of the Medici family.

So in an unknown street somewhere in Florence, Francesco de’ Pazzi falls to the ground unconscious, leaving a very confused Giuliano de’ Medici and Sandro Botticelli to carry him home.


	2. Lorenzo

Lorenzo de’ Medici is confused at the sudden noise which accompanies his brother’s return to the palazzo. For all of Giuliano’s faults, he normally isn’t too raucous in the middle of the day, if only for the sake of their grandmother’s prized nap.

He is even more confused when he walks out into the courtyard and sees the limp form of Francesco de’ Pazzi being dragged by his brother and Sandro. Again, for all of the unmitigated idiocy of his brother and his antics, he normally refrains from breaking the law and likewise avoids the Pazzi at all costs.

His confusion only increases when he sees his grandmother emerge from her rooms and charge toward the prone form of Francesco. She runs a hand through the unconscious boy’s hair, checks for fever with the back of her palm pressed against his forehead and calls for Marco Bello to fetch a physician. It is only when she sees him hiding in the shadows that he regains the ability to move, and even that is only because he learnt from a young age not to ignore the directives of Florence’s most dangerous woman.

And that is how Lorenzo finds himself with his hands hooked under Francesco’s shoulders while his brother and Sandro carry his legs. They stumble a few times as they carry the Pazzi boy to a nearby lounge, and have scarcely gotten their breath back when Contessina orders Giuliano and Sandro out of the room.

For all that he loves his grandmother, Lorenzo finds himself growing uneasy at being left alone with her.

“Why are we sheltering Francesco de’ Pazzi?”

Contessina slowly lowers herself to the ground next to the lounge and grabs Francesco’s left arm. It is only then that Lorenzo notices that his sleeve is torn and that there is an ugly burn on his rival’s arm.

“Your name was here this morning. If we are very careful, it might one day be here again.”

Lorenzo carefully takes Francesco’s arm from his grandmother and forces himself to look at the blistered skin. He is sure that if he looks carefully enough he can see the faintest black lettering.

“Who did this?”

Even as he asks the question he knows the answer, Jacopo de’ Pazzi has no qualms about striking a child because of a friendship with the Medici, he would have no qualms about destroying any chance of happiness for Francesco if it meant a permanent alliance between the two.

“I will take care of Jacopo, and your parents, and whatever future may come. You have a few weeks before your birthday, and this may come to nothing, but Francesco desperately needs someone to protect him right now. Even if this is not as I hoped, even if your names do not match, that your name appeared on his arm suggests that you are the person best suited to taking care of Francesco. All I am asking is that you try to be kind to him as he heals.”

Lorenzo considers his grandmother’s pleading tone and the pained expression on Francesco’s face. He remembers the last time that he tried to be kind, when the stress of the situation caused his grandmother to fall ill for long enough that they feared for her life.

He is so close to saying no.

But then Francesco shifts in his sleep the fingers of his left hand searching for something to hold onto and finding Lorenzo’s hands. His eyes flutter open, seeing nothing but still painfully earnest as he mumbles something unintelligible before closing them again.

Can Lorenzo truly blame him for believing the poison that Jacopo fed to him? For taking the person who was supposed to care for him and protect him from the world at his word when he said the Medici were the enemy?

All he has wanted for the longest time has been friendship between the two of them. He could not have imagined something as close as this, yet it has come to him none the less.

He thinks of his grandfather, who used to tell him of how the building of the duomo was something a higher power had commanded him to do.

Maybe this is to be his moment of obeying a higher power, maybe this moment is to be the making of his legacy.

“After the doctor has seen him, we will need to move him to my chambers. He can have the bed until he heals, and I will take the lounge. God knows that Sandro has used it as a bed enough times.”

Contessina nods and stands, wiping some imaginary dust off of her dress as she does so.

“I’ll deal with your parents. You should stay with him. I can’t imagine that I would want to wake alone after such an injury.”

Lorenzo nods, but he isn’t listening. Already he is considering the arrangements he will need to make during Francesco’s recovery and deciding which books he will bring from his fathers library during his convalescence.

Unbeknownst to Lorenzo, Contessina de’ Medici smiles at this from where she has praised by the door. She remembers that look from when Lucrezia first came to their house, and Piero could not stop smiling at the thought of being married to her.

She does not think that she needs to worry about the name which will appear on Lorenzo’s arm.

Lorenzo stays by Francesco’s side as the doctor examines him and applies a poultice to the burn. He stays by his side as Marco Bello picks him up and carries him to Lorenzo’s chambers. He stays by his side when one of the servants brings up two plates of food and takes it upon himself to rouse Francesco enough that he can feed him a few spoonfuls of soup before the older boy falls back into his fitful sleep.

Lorenzo is on the verge of sleep when Francesco wakes properly, his eyes tired but clear.

“I always meant us to be friends, Francesco.”

Francesco smiles tiredly and shrugs. “We shall be again.”

The Pazzi boy blinks a few times before looking properly at Lorenzo again. The Medici heir considers the boy who should be his rival but instead may become the most important person in his life and finds that he has nothing to say.

Nothing to say until Francesco bites back a gasp and shifts his arm slightly.

“I will never let something like that happen to you again. I promise, for as long as there is breath in my body, you will be safe from your uncle.”

“I hardly think that he will be scared of a fifteen year old boy.”

“I will be sixteen soon, and we are both already adults in the eyes of the law. If you choose to be here, there is nothing he can do to take you away.”

Francesco smiles sadly and shrugs. Lorenzo doesn’t care if he believes him or not, as soon as the name on his arm becomes clear he will be sure use that to persuade his father to convince the priori that Francesco belongs with him.

He feels a fiery conviction rise within him and knows that as soon as he is able to, he will spend his every waking moment showing Francesco that he is safe with him and the Medici family, even if it means setting the world on fire to do so.

But for now, he can see that Francesco is tired and that the hour is late, so he contents himself with a broad grin as he pulls the blankets up to better protect Francesco from the cool night air.

“We can talk more tomorrow Francesco. Sleep now. I’ll still be here when you wake in the morning.”

He is.


	3. Francesco

Francesco wakes in a bed that is not his own in a house that ceased to be familiar when he was seven years old.

Lorenzo has fallen asleep at some point during the night, his head on the mattress near Francesco’s hand and his entire body hunched over. It doesn’t fit the narrative his uncle has tried to sell him for most of his youth, of the Medici as a family more concerned with wealth than they are with the well-being of others. But then again, if in a few weeks his name does not appear on Lorenzo’s arm he might find himself in a less hospitable home than the one he sees currently.

Francesco sighs, the sound loud enough to wake Lorenzo. The Medici smiles at him as he leans back and stretches.

“Why did you let me have your bed?”

“You were injured, besides, I have found the lounge to be perfectly comfortable when one used it before.”

“Yet you are hunched over my sickbed.”

“I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

Francesco smiles.

“You should go and eat with your family, I’m sure they are worried.”

“You should come with me if you feel well enough to walk, I’m sure that Guglielmo will be glad to see you at the very least.”

Francesco starts, pushing himself up onto his right arm so he better see Lorenzo’s face.

“He is here?”

“He and Bianca returned to Florence late last night after we sent word of what has happened to you. I’m sure he’s been worried.”

Francesco falls back onto the bed, his mind racing with thoughts. Why would Guglielmo, banished from the Pazzi family since the name of Bianca de’ Medici has appeared on his arm, be concerned with the state of the brother who had so callously ignored his pleas for fraternal good feeling. Francesco has done nothing to deserve the worry his brother seems to have for him, much as deep down Francesco still cares for and loves his brother.

“Francesco?”

Francesco turns to look at Lorenzo.

“I’m sure you will feel better once you have talked to him.”

Lorenzo offers his hand to Francesco, the smile on his face suggesting that he doesn’t expect any resistance. Francesco wonders if he had been just as free before Jacopo came into his life and made every soft part of him feel like a weakness.

“Do you think you will have my name on your wrist?”

Lorenzo is taken aback.

“I hope that I do. We have the potential to bring years of feuding to an end.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“You know that you never have to go back Francesco. Marco Bello would happily kill your uncle before he’d let him take you back.”

“So I am to be a Medici then?”

Lorenzo frowns and sighs.

“Why are you asking me all of these questions?”

Francesco sighs and shakes his head.

“Yesterday we were feuding sons of rival families, in a few weeks we might be betrothed. Surely you understand my confusion.”

Lorenzo smiles, takes Francesco’s left hand and kisses the knuckles.

“It might be less confusing after breakfast. Come, grandmother at the very least will be happy to see you.”

Francesco nods and allows Lorenzo to guide him through the halls of the palazzo and down to the dining hall. They are the last to arrive, Francesco’s disorientation and their conversation having given everyone else time to seat themselves. Contessina smiles warmly at Francesco, Giuliano scowls with fearsome intensity. Guglielmo is the one who stands and reaches for his brother, and it saddens the younger of the two brothers that this simple gesture of familial affection is so foreign to him. He relaxes into the hug after a few seconds, trying his best to hide from the rest of the Medici clan.

“I’m sorry Guglielmo.”

“No, I am, I should never have left you alone with our uncle,” his brother says as he releases him from the hug. “But all can be well now, you can stay here, and Bianca and I will remain in Florence for however long it takes for you to settle in.”

Francesco nods and allows Lorenzo to guide him to the table. A plate full of fruits is already waiting for him, a loaf of fresh crisp bread tantalisingly close.

Piero has made his way to the room despite his perpetual gout. He is the one to speak when Francesco begins to eat.

“Like my parents before me, I’ve always advocated for peace between the Florentine families. I’m only glad that fate has made at least part of such a task easy. You are welcome in our home for however long you should choose to remain here Francesco.”

Lucrezia seems less than pleased with this development, though she hides her sour expression better than her younger son. No doubt, this has been one of the rare instances of Contessina and her daughter in law clashing, a thought which makes Francesco wince.

He tries to open his mouth, to say something, but for all that he can spar verbally with Lorenzo, or confess his insecurities to his uncle after too much wine, the thought of speaking to the larger Medici family sends chills down his spine.

So instead he nods and smiles at the Medici patriarch, hoping no one but Lorenzo notices when he drops his hands under the table to clutch onto his soulmate’s arm.

Lorenzo smiles so sweetly at him that Francesco can almost imagine that there is a happy ending in the near future for them.

* * *

  
Three weeks later Francesco paces worriedly outside of Lorenzo’s chambers. While the Medici has assured him there is nothing to worry about, doubt niggles at Francesco’s mind. His mark had appeared on his arm in the early hours of the morning, the shock of waking up to it nearly enough to pull a yelp from him. Dawn has broken on Florence, yet to the best of his knowledge Lorenzo has not even the slightest hint of a mark on his arm.

Francesco abandons the stretch of stone hallway and makes his way into the courtyard, where at least he will be able to pretend he has escaped from the oppressive air which has settled on the palazzo.

While no one else will voice it, all of the inhabitants of the Medici home seem to have come to the understanding that his continued presence there depends on the name on Lorenzo’s arm. Should it be one of those tragic cases of unrequited love he will be bundled off to live with Guglielmo and Bianca in their country villa, only to return to Florence for Easter mass, and even then to be kept out of sight of the family. No one has said anything about it, but it seems apparent in Bianca taking it upon herself to describe the beautiful lush countryside around the villa, and in Guglielmo reminiscing on how wonderfully kept the stables are.

He tries to put it out of his mind, focusing instead on the beautiful colours of the clouds which float high in the sky. Pinks so vivid that every Florentine lady would fight for them to be on her dress, purples deep enough to suit royalty. Whatever happens today, they will be here tomorrow.

“Show me your arm Francesco.”

He startles at the sound of Contessina’s voice. For all he has learnt about the palazzo and its inhabitants in the time he has been there, her movements are still a mystery to him.

“Shouldn’t you be resting, madonna?”

“I could say the same of you. Why aren’t you with my grandson? You should be celebrating.”

“There is still every chance that my name might not be on his arm. That some high born noble’s daughter will become his bride.”

Contessina rolls her eyes.

“Show me your arm Francesco.”

He reluctantly offers her his bandaged arm, not at all surprised when she begins to unwrap the dressing.

“Look. I don’t think you have since the doctor treated it last, have you?”

Francesco shakes his head in lieu of giving a proper answer.

“Look.”

He ignores the voice in his head screaming at him that no one should see such an ugly sight and glances down at the patch of still healing skin.

Faint though it may be, the dark lettering of Lorenzo’s name shines through, stronger now than it was after Jacopo first burnt his arm.

“Jacopo de’ Pazzi had not enough force to break this bond between you. I beg you Francesco, do not let your own doubts do what he could not.”

“I am not the most strategic of partners for the prince of Florence.”

“My grandson is not a prince, and your pairing could finally bring peace to Florence. That will better the lives of the people of Florence for generations regardless of whether you have children or not.”

Francesco nods, going still when Contessina places a hand on his shoulder.

“Go to Lorenzo. He should not be alone at such a time.”

Francesco nods and hurries back to Lorenzo’s room, only slightly surprised when the door opens without resistance.

Lorenzo is sitting on the floor despite the abundance of furniture available to him. He looks up when Francesco approaches, and extends a hand for the older boy to join him.

For possibly the first time in his life, Francesco is the one who breaks the silence.

“Have you looked?”

Lorenzo nods. Francesco sighs and tries to centre himself. There are worse things than a broken heart, but he struggles to think of any in the oppressive silence of the bedroom.

“Your name is there.”

Francesco smiles and reaches for Lorenzo’s arm.

“But so is another’s.”

Francesco desperately rolls the fabric of Lorenzo’s nightshirt up his arm.

“Tell me Francesco, have you ever heard of a woman called Clarice Orsini?”


	4. Clarice

Clarice Orsini is fifteen years old when she is told she must leave the only home she has ever known and make a new life in Florence.

Fifteen when she is put into a carriage with only Father Carlo for company and told she might never see Rome again.

For all of her friend’s assurances that Florence is the jewel of all Italy, with a duomo rivalled only by the Pantheon, a place with art and music that puts time to shame, she cannot help but think that she would be happier as a nun, living a life of poverty in the Holy See. She has heard many stories of the debauchery of Florence, her friend the bastard son of a Medici and a Circassian slave. Somehow she doesn’t think that her betrothed could be the enlightened and holy man who Carlo describes.

Still, she has been told by her uncle and her mother that it is important she be the very picture of a virtuous and polite young maiden while she is betrothed to Lorenzo. If she is to wed a Medici, her in-laws must not think that she considers herself their moral superior. If she is not, then she might benefit from cultivating the friendship of some of the most powerful bankers in Europe.

Either way, it has been made clear that her own fears and misgivings about the situations are inconsequential.

So she lets Carlo tell her about the city which might become her new home and the surrounding countryside. She smiles with interest when he tells her about the history of the place, raises her eyebrows when he details the scandals and makes noises of approval when he tells her of the achievements of the Medici family since Giovanni founded the bank.

It is not long before they have reached the city, the Sun hanging low in the sky as it waits to retire for the day. Clarice does not need to feign her interest when the enter, craning her neck to take in the sight of the palazzos and the cathedral.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Carlo asks, a small smile on his face.

Clarice nods.

“And very different to Rome.”

“I am sure you will find the waters of the Arno just as pleasant of those of the Tiber.”

She smiles, genuinely this time as the carriage stops outside the Palazzo Medici.

“Thank you Carlo, for setting my mind at ease.”

It is all she has time to say before the carriage door is opened and they are welcomed into the palazzo.

The Medici family have gathered to meet her. Of the most interest are the two youths who stand in the centre of the group. One is tall, his eyes a striking blue and his frame impressive for a sixteen year old. The other hides behind him, he is shorter, lankier and his eyes are green. She supposes that the first must be Lorenzo de’ Medici, but the other is a mystery to her.

A woman with grey hair and a black dress approaches her, a smile upon her face as she takes Clarice’s hands in her own.

“Welcome Clarice. There will be time for introductions later, I imagine you must be tired from your journey.”

Clarice smiles and remembers what her mother told her.

“Thank you madonna, for such a warm welcome. But I’m not so tired from the journey that I can’t say hello to your wonderful family.”

Contessina smiles and links their arms together. She leads Clarice away from the two boys who caught her eye to an older couple.

“This is my son, Piero and his wife Lucrezia.”

Clarice curtsies and smiles.

“Thank you for having me in your home.”

Lucrezia leans forward and kisses Clarice’s cheek.

“It’ll be lovely to have another girl in the house. Since my Bianca married we have lacked a feminine presence.”

The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, Clarice feels a chill descend on her as she considers how she is meant to navigate a home where her potential mother in law considers her to be a bad deal.

Contessina quickly moves her on to a younger boy, straddling that awkward line between child and adolescent.

“My other grandson, Giuliano.”

Clarice smiles as he grins at her, the wrinkles around his eyes indicating that he is genuine.

“Do you like horse riding Clarice?”

“I have not much skill in that area, unfortunately.”

“It’s alright, I’ll teach you! It’ll be nice to win at racing for once, Lorenzo always beats me.”

“Giuliano!” Contessina pulls Clarice away from her younger grandson and towards the last two men in the house. “Here is my grandson Lorenzo, and our ward Francesco de’ Pazzi.”

Lorenzo steps forward and takes her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles before straightening and smiling at her.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you. I trust that Carlo kept you entertained on your journey.”

Clarice nods, suddenly too shy to say anything. His eyes are kind and his hands are soft. Her knees threaten to buckle as he smiles again, and she forces herself to look past him to Francesco to avoid swooning in the courtyard.

Francesco meets her eyes with a steady gaze and offers her a small sad smile. She carefully disentangles herself from Lorenzo’s hold and offers a curtsy to the slighter boy, smiling as he also presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“A pleasure to meet you, Clarice.”

Contessina walks forward, guiding Clarice away from the group and towards the rest of the palazzo.

“There will be more time to speak at dinner, for now I think it’s best that you rest.”

Clarice nods and allows Contessina to guide her through the palazzo to a comfortable set of rooms.

“It is unfortunate that we must wait a year to see if you and my grandson are compatible, however I hope that while we wait you will be comfortable. We normally sup at 8, I would recommend you rest until then. Medici family dinners are trying affairs at the best of times, and impossible if you are tired.”

Contessina turns away as if to leave, but Clarice lurches forward and grabs her hand.

“Wait, madonna, I have a question before I rest.”

Contessina turns and sighs. “Francesco de’ Pazzi’s name appears on Lorenzo’s arm next to yours. How your sixteenth birthday plays out will determine the fate of Florence, if not the whole of the peninsula. Rest before dinner Clarice.”

And there it is, the moment Clarice was waiting for. The moment where her whole world comes crashing down.


	5. Lorenzo

Lorenzo waits a few days for Clarice to acclimatise to Florence before he offers to show her around the library at the palazzo. He finds her quietness hard to navigate, her eyes not as easy to read as Francesco’s. Still, she is sweet even if she does seem shy, and if she does end up with his name on her arm, then he will have to learn to navigate the silences, even if he does find it difficult now.

“We have what might be the most beautiful collection of books in Florence. Some are the only copies in Europe. The classics are my favourite, but we have medical tomes, legal philosophy, even a directory of plants. So, if there’s anything you’re interested in, let me know and I’ll try to find out for you.”

“I suppose that an explanation of the Medici Pazzi family feud is too recent a topic to be committed to paper?”

Lorenzo lifts his gaze to meet hers, pleased that she shows no inclination of backing down.

“Outside of correspondence, yes. Is it known all the way in Rome that we do not get along?”

“Only among certain circles, I’m sure you were very surprised when Francesco’s name appeared on your arm.”

“Not really, he’s older than me. It was a relief, I think he was worried that he’d be banished from Florence.”

“And then I must have been quite the disappointment.”

Lorenzo shakes his head.

“A surprise, yes, but never a disappointment. And I hope very much that you will always consider yourself a dear friend to this family, even if you do not become my wife.”

“What will become of Francesco if you and I do marry?”

“My Father has been investigating every possibility so that we might all be together.”

Clarice visibly stiffens at this and Lorenzo wishes, not for the first time, that he could take back words already spoken.

“In law only of course. We would not ask you to do anything that would...”

“Make me uncomfortable? We are probably beyond that now.”

Lorenzo sighs, picking up a book which he knows to contain the tale of Persephone.

“I am sorry that you have been taken away from your home for my sake. People with far more power than either of us thought it would be better to keep you close.”

He hands her the tome.

“I think there are some stories in there you might find some solace in.”

“My mother always disapproved of pagan myths.”

Lorenzo smiles and takes her hand.

“There is some wisdom to be found in them. You should ask Francesco about them, he’s always been far more knowledgeable than me in these matters.”

“I’m not sure he would appreciate my interference.”

“He is naturally shy, but he is very warm once you learn his ways.”

Lorenzo nods to Clarice, deciding now is the time to leave her to her thoughts. He walks through the Palazzo, his feet naturally guiding him to Francesco’s rooms. Something tells him that his soulmate will not mind the company.

Francesco is laying upon his window seat, a book in his hands as he suns himself.

“What are you reading today ‘Cesco?”

“The banking systems of the moors. It’s fascinating, how they avoid usury while still profiting from their business.”

Lorenzo comes to sit next to him, carefully dislodging his feet from where they rest on the seat and taking them onto his own lap. He watches carefully to see if Francesco shows any sign of discomfort at this, knowing from experience and weeks of careful observation that his soulmate scares easily in the face of open affection.

“You look very handsome in the sunlight.”

“Clearly its an optical illusion.”

Lorenzo sighs and presses a light kiss to Francesco’s cheek.

“I will admit that love might be causing me to see things. The beauty of your spirit perhaps, showing the goodness that lies within.”

Francesco sighs and puts his book down, leaning forward so that he can rest his head on Lorenzo’s shoulder.

“She will have your name, I can feel it.”

“And then there will be two people who I can love and cherish until the end of my days.”

Lorenzo presses a kiss to the top of Francesco’s head this time, bringing a hand up to run through the mess of curls.

“How is your arm?”

Francesco wordlessly offers his left arm to Lorenzo, his eyes still downcast as the younger of the two examines the slowly healing burn. All the heat has long left it, and the skin grows softer and paler every day. For all of Jacopo‘s efforts, Lorenzo’s name remains on the skin, the black lettering clear to the eye. Lorenzo presses another kiss to the edge of the burn, careful not to apply any pressure to the still sensitive skin, then releases the arm.

“You grow stronger every day. Perhaps you will join is at mass this Sunday, I am sure that Florence would be relieved to see you are alive.”

“And my uncle devastated that both his nephews are bound to the Medici.”

“We would protect you from him. You must know that I would never allow any harm to come to you. Even if I was unable to help you, grandmother would strike him dead before she would let him lay a finger on you.”

Francesco smiles and shrugs, but Lorenzo can tell he is still tense despite it all.

“It would incite gossip. Having me as a soulmate is bad enough, having two is enough to keep the rumour mills going until your grandchildren are born.”

“Our grandchildren. You must know that I could never forsake you Francesco. I love you.”

Francesco pauses, obviously biting back a response. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Lorenzo’s cheek.

“We are sixteen, I’m not sure if we know what love is.”

“Talk to her. If she understands why you are so dear to me, she might help us on securing our future.”

Francesco sighs. “The devout Roman girl?”

“Our future wife.”

Francesco smiles but Lorenzo can tell that the elder boy does not quite believe him.


	6. Clarice and Francesco

Clarice and Francesco have their first private conversation entirely by accident.

They are both hiding from one of the more energetic arguments between Giuliano and Lorenzo, and they both have chosen the library as the best place to avoid the brothers’ quarrel.

Francesco, being the more familiar with the library, arrives first. It leaves Clarice feeling a bit like an intruder when she enters. A blush rising on her cheeks when she sees him lounging on a seat by the window.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise-“

“From experience, it takes a few hours for the house to return to normal when they argue like this. I don’t mind sharing a place of sanctuary if that is what you’re looking for.”

Clarice nods and walks forward.

“Lorenzo told me you are wise.”

“And he told me you were kind.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Clarice sits on a chair near Francesco, trying to keep her face neutral as she waits for him to respond.

“In my experience, kindness is often exploited.”

“Even amongst family?”

“Especially so. Though for what little it is worth, Lorenzo is entirely kind and entirely genuine.”

“I know. He speaks very highly of you. He tells me you are very well versed in literature.”

“Then he us being generous. He tells me you are very accomplished in debate.”

“He is being kind. I’m afraid I was not afforded the same level of education as the two of you, but growing up in the pope’s course had some advantages.”

“The ability to argue one of them, I take it?” Francesco looks at her properly and Clarice smiles.

“If you had been a girl you would know that is inherent to the sex. If I didn’t have the ability to argue with my mother I’m sure that I would have been wished away from Rome in the dead of night with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

Francesco smiles, his eyes creasing from the magnitude of it.

“You are well matched with him.”

“I’m sure you are as well.”

Francesco shrugs.

“He makes everything look so easy. Sometimes I think that he could walk on water of he wished to. I feel awkward in comparison.”

“Yet he loves you, despite any awkwardness you might feel. That must be worth something.”

“We are sixteen. I don’t think I know what love is yet. The English have their stories about ladies and knights, but I don’t understand how that is meant to apply to me. He cannot wear my favour when he goes to joust, nor can I wear his. You on the other hand, you make sense.”

“He looks at you as though your voice is the sweetest thing he could ever hear.”

“He looks at you as though you are the most beautiful and delicate creature he has ever set his eyes upon.”

“We are well matched then.” Clarice leans forward and takes Francesco’s hand. “Two strangers in a strange home, that should make us friends, should it not?”

Francesco squeezes her hand and nods.

“It should.”

And so begins a friendship that surprises most of the population of the Palazzo Medici, but delights Lorenzo and Contessina.

Giuliano is very disappointed when Francesco de’ Pazzi teaches Clarice to ride a horse, but that is more because she can now beat him in races than any actual discontent with the union.

Lucrezia, for her part, breathes a sigh of relief. While Contessina was very skilful in hiding her pain when Maddelena gave birth to Carlo, there was still tension in the house, enough that she used to hide in the nursery with her children to escape it for a few hours. So she smiles and allows herself to relax when she sees that Francesco, Lorenzo and Clarice are walking hand in hand through the Palazzo.

The months pass a little easier knowing that whatever happens on Clarice’s birthday, a friendship between the two families will remain.

Clarice surprises everyone, herself included when she asks her potential mother in law to sit with her the night before her sixteenth birthday. Lucrezia to her credit, reacts with the same grace and calm that has characterised her time as Lady of Florence. She hums as she runs a brush through Clarice’s hair, reminiscing on the times that she would do the same thing for Bianca.

“I want it to be Lorenzo.”

“I would like it to be him too. He is very taken with you.”

“And my uncle’s position as a cardinal is not something you pay great mind to, I suppose.”

Lucrezia sits next to Clarice, the brush out to the side for the minute so she can better pay attention to her potential daughter in law.

“I know that Rome is not a simple place. So you should know by now that survival is often determined by what alliances can be made. My brother in law has many good qualities, but he will never be a cardinal. I see no point in hiding my desire for a strategic alliance between our families. It reeks of false modesty at best, and actual stupidity at worst.”

Clarice shrugs.

“I thought that I might become a nun. I’m not sure I have the strength of character to be so deft in politics.”

Lucrezia smiles and shrugs.

“If all goes according to plan, you won’t need to. Francesco understands Florence enough for the two of you.”

“No one has done such a thing in centuries, and never with two men.”

“We are Medici, and thus accustomed to getting our way. Would you be so unhappy to share Lorenzo?”

Clarice shakes her head, her tongue feels heavy in her mouth as she tries to articulate her feelings. “I am very fond of Francesco, just as I am fond of Lorenzo, yet I cannot help but worry that tomorrow will force into reality what has been a pleasant dream today.”

Lucrezia shrugs and smiles again, this time more sympathetically than before.

“Talk to them, talk to them both and explain your worries. In my experience there are enough worries outside the gates of the palazzo. It is best not to alienate your best allies by allowing small worries to become huge concerns.”

Clarice nods and looks to her bed.

“The anticipation is very unpleasant.”

Lucrezia stands and begins to walk out of the room.

“It will pass. As all things must.”

Clarice waits until she has gone to climb onto the bed and try to go to sleep.

* * *

Lorenzo is waiting by the door when the sun rises in the morning, Francesco by his side as they listen to the sounds of Clarice getting ready.

Lorenzo opens his mouth several times to speak, only to find that every time the sheer feeling he wants to express is completely beyond his ability to articulate. So he places his hand in Francesco’s, knowing that regardless of what happens, the other boy will remain by his side for as many years as they have left.

Clarice emerges just as the sun clears the roof of the palazzo, a dressing gown wrapped around her form as she holds out her arm for Lorenzo to see.

His handwriting is there.

The three youths embrace as they realise that they may have a proper future together.

* * *

The pope cannot say no to a Medici, not when they are the ones who hold the papal accounts so tightly and closely to their chests.

Besides, when God has literally joined together, tearing asunder is inadvisable at best, fiscal suicide at worst.

Both Contessina and Lucrezia are adamant that the wedding not be held before Clarice is at least 17, both of them tutting over how young she is to be having a baby and running a household; Contessina pointing to the fact that she was 25 when she married and still managed to have two healthy sons while Lucrezia points to the relatively recent example of Margaret Beaufort being rendered barren after having a child at 12 as another reason not to rush into a marriage.

Clarice doesn’t mind, she finds that not being returned to Rome in disgrace makes her far happier than the idea of waiting makes her sad. And while it may be that children are a blessing from God, she is still not quite ready to have a child while she feels so much like one.

Francesco pretends not to mind, at least until Contessina pulls him aside and informs him that he’s now considered legally betrothed to Lorenzo, and that if his uncle should try to kidnap him he will be promptly rescued and his uncle punished. After that he allows himself to relax, a weight lifted off of his shoulders with the knowledge that this golden world the Medici inhabit will be his too.

Truly Lorenzo is the only one who is actually a little disappointed at the delay, and even that is quickly fixed once he realises that this will allow him to play the part of the courtly lover until their wedding day. He’s already coming up with a system of whose favour he will ask for under what circumstance by the time that his mother and grandmother are sternly explaining that betrothed does not mean married and that their bedchambers will be guarded just as heavily as the bank vault until their wedding day.

No, they are all ridiculously happy, which is why that Jacopo de’ Pazzi actually going through with his plan to kidnap Francesco is so cruel.


	7. Lucrezia

The plot has been in development for some months since Clarice’s birthday and the discovery that Piero de’ Medici wishes to petition the pope to allow his son to have two spouses.

Jacopo de’ Pazzi, who believes in God only when it suits him, has decided that this is an affront to God, and thus must be rectified in the only way he truly understands. Medici blood must be spilt and his nephew freed from that immoral clan.

The fact that Francesco enjoys being part of that immoral clan, that he has found friendship which has been denied to him for so long, that he finds himself waking up in the morning looking forward to the rest of the day; all of that is irrelevant.

It is Easter by the time that the plot has developed enough to be viable, while Francesco has been reluctant to leave the Palazzo, he cannot possibly refuse to attend mass on the holiest day of the year and so Jacopo knows that he will be vulnerable to attack.

The sky is clear, the sun shining brightly down on the nobles of Florence as they patiently wait to take their seats in the duomo. Many of them take advantage of the slight delay in proceedings to gawk at the newly betrothed Medici boy and his intended. 

Both Francesco and Clarice are clinging to Lorenzo’s hands, though each for different reasons. Clarice can feel her hands trembling even in the relative warmth of the sunny day. It feels as though the eyes of all of Florence are upon her and find her wanting. Outside of the admittedly formidable Medici clan she has no friends in Florence, and her family are all in Rome. Lorenzo, as oblivious as he may be sometimes, has offered her his hand and presses soft kisses to her temple every time that she shivers or starts to shy away from the curious stares of the denizens of Florence. Francesco also clings to Lorenzo, not because he feels he needs the support but because he wants to show those same denizens that he is not afraid or ashamed. He wants them to know every time that he meets their gazes that he is loved, and that for the first time in his life, he is not being used to further someone’s political or personal agenda.

He meets Jacopo’s gaze with none of the deference that was once demanded of him, and he feels free.

They enter the duomo shortly after the priest has made his entrance, one of the benefits of being the first family of Florence. Piero leads the family, Contessina on one side of him and Lucrezia on the other to alleviate the pain of the gout in his feet. Lorenzo walks behind him, an odd reflection of his father with Clarice and Francesco clinging to his sides.

Bianca and Guglielmo are at the rear, Bianca’s hand safely nestled in Guglielmo’s as they proceed to the front of the church. Giuliano walks to the side of them with Sandro, both boys feeling a little forgotten as Florence looks on enviously at the happy Medici family.

Jacopo watches this procession, this gross parody of the holy family with a sneer upon his face. For all that the Medici dislike him, they cannot deny the importance of his family and his bank in the city of Florence, and so no one bats an eye when he walks close behind them.

The men in the crowd he had paid to cause some chaos are just behind him, ready to strike when the priest holds up the holy sacrament. 

All told there is only about fifteen minutes of peace and contentment before the terror begins.

Francesco feels hands pulling him backwards, his hand slipping away from Lorenzo before he has the chance to move. He recognises the cold hard voice of his uncle commanding him to be still, and to gods utmost shame, he finds that he cannot disobey them. Instead, he finds himself being carried backwards out of the duomo while Lorenzo and Clarice call out to him. He reaches forward with outstretched hands, hoping beyond reason that someone will be able to catch hold of him but all he manages to grasp is empty air, and he is soon out of the duomo and being shoved into a carriage.  
-  
The Palazzo Pazzi is cold and dark, the way it always seems to be even in the hottest months of summer. Francesco has been put into his room, the once familiar and comforting place now sinister after so many months of absence. He can hear his uncle conspiring in the courtyard as he paces around the room; his door locked and the windows barred so he has no hope of escape. He shivers uncontrollably as the sound of his uncle yelling becomes louder and louder. Much as Francesco loves the Medici for all that they have done for him, and all the love they have shown him, he doubts the ability of the perpetually ill patriarch of that family to rescue him from this nightmare.  
-  
Lorenzo is the first to come up with a plan of attack; namely attack.

It takes the combined forces of three generations of Medici wives to convince him not to immediately storm the Palazzo Pazzi. Contessina is the angriest of them, but even she confesses that an immediate attack on Jacopo will only end in disaster.

Piero suggests an appeal to the priori and the other powerful denizens of Florence. This is quickly shot down by all of the members of the family on the basis that it will take to long, and thus put Francesco in more danger than acting quickly can.

They go to bed that night without a resolution, Lorenzo laying on his bed without any hope of getting to sleep. All that occupies his thoughts is that Francesco is alone and without any hope of rescue.

He cannot know that at the same time Francesco is starting at the ceiling of his old bedroom, feeling equal amounts of frustration and sorrow as his soulmate across the city.  
-  
Francesco sits alone in his bedroom wondering, not for the first time, why much of the misfortune in his family seems to follow him, rather than his brother.

He has already tried to escape twice. The first time was shortly after dinner; he tried to run out from where they were eating and into the street but he barely made it into the atrium before his uncle’s men grabbed him and shoved him back into his room. The second was shortly after midnight, and that time was thwarted by his uncle in person.

He still bears the bruises from that particular effort on his wrists. Jacopo had sneered as he had hauled Francesco through the halls of the cold palazzo, telling his allegedly beloved nephew that he was never going to escape him.

Francesco is starting to believe it.  
-  
Lucrezia is easily the most cunning Medici and she wasn’t even born into the family. While Contessina may be a born leader and able to lie at a pinch, Lucrezia is the one who has been managing Florence for the many years of her husband’s ill health. While Clarice is kind and nurturing, Lucrezia is the one whose love for her family burns in her heart with the power of a thousand suns. That family includes Francesco now, and she has no inclination to let him return to a cruel and uncaring uncle.

So she is the one who rouses a few of the family’s strongest men and leads them in the darkest hours of the early morning towards the Palazzo Pazzi. She is the one who moves silently through the streets of Florence and stands defiantly before the front gates. Where any other person might shiver at the enormity of what is to be done, she stands tall with a straight back and her shoulders set.

She belongs to the most powerful family in Florence, she is not above taking advantage of that.

Her men gain entry quickly enough, the wooden doors of the Palazzo powerful, but not so much that they can resist constant attack with a makeshift battering ram.

Jacopo is waiting for them when they finally enter into the atrium. He stands in front of the horse statue that his nephews used to play upon with a defiant look about him, his sword drawn as her eyes down the many men Lucrezia has brought with her.

“What is the meaning of this? Do you think your husband so invincible that you can take the law into your own hands?”

Lucrezia shakes her head and smiles.

“I know myself to be powerful enough to take the law into my own hands. You have defied God, Jacopo, many times. I know Francesco to be happy with us. He feels safe with us and you have tried to take away his happiness, all because long ago a Medici killed a Pazzi. Or maybe it was the other way around, it was so long ago that I’ve forgotten.”

She walks forward. Jacopo flinches away as she approaches victorious.

“Your brother had forgotten, by the time he died. He wanted to join our two families, create a dynasty so powerful that it would last for generations. And you, oh you, with all your hatred, you’ve nearly torn it all down.”

She slaps him then, her heavy rings cutting into his face as the sound of her palm making contact with his cheek reverberates around the courtyard.

“Find Francesco and bring him to me,” she turns to one of her men while the rest go about restraining Jacopo. “Tell him that he is safe now.”

The man has just ventured further into the Palazzo when Jacopo dares speak again.

“My friends in the priori will not allow this indignity to go unpunished, madonna,” he sneers, the last word as venomous as the snake that tempted Eve.

Lucrezia shrugs as she watches her man return with a shaken but otherwise unharmed Francesco.

“I think in this instance, Jacopo, that my friends in the priori outnumber yours.”

She embraces her soon to be son in law as he approaches her. She notes, not completely without some satisfaction, that Francesco doesn’t even look at his uncle, instead resting his head in the crook of her neck.

“Now, now, my dear,” she mutters as her men escort Jacopo out of the Palazzo and towards the cells near the priori. “You must know that I would never let you be stolen from the people who love you.”

She does not mention that this it’s because he appears to be the only one of Lorenzo’s generation who knows how a bank works, nor that she worries that Francesco would be a worse enemy than even his uncle if he put his mind to it. That eventuality has not played out, and she would rather focus on the happiness of reality than the misery of hypotheticals.

They walk back to the Palazzo Medici together. If Francesco leans somewhat more heavily on Lucrezia than he normally would, well neither of them point it out.

They return home just before dawn breaks on the roofs of Florence. The Palazzo is quiet in the way that it only can be when all of the inhabitants are asleep and both Lucrezia and Francesco are careful to keep it that way; their movements slow and careful as they avoid knocking over any wayward personal belongings.

“I know that Contessina and I have impressed on you and Lorenzo the importance of proper behaviour, however, just for this morning, I think I could turn a blind eye if you wished to visit Lorenzo’s room without a chaperone.”

Francesco smiles as he breaks away from her and heads towards the bedrooms.

Lucrezia turns her face to the sun as its light begins to fill the courtyard of her home. For the first time in a while Florence feos at peace and safe.

She smiles. All is well.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s done!!! Thank you all so much for following along with it, your kind comments and kudos gave me so much motivation.
> 
> I’m sorry about the large gap in posting, Uni was hectic!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!

Jacopo Pazzi is exiled from Florence for his part in the kidnapping of Francesco.

Francesco does not always sleep easy, there are some nights where he swears that he can hear men rallying outside the palazzo to take him back to that unhappy place; but they are becoming fewer and further between.

They are to be married in spring.

Sandro praises the poetry of it, the idea of renewal and rebirth. Francesco does what he can to avoid snorting at the artist. He is perfectly aware that they’ve chosen spring because Easter mass will make for a good excuse to show off the new alliances that the Medici family has made. The soon to be head of the most powerful family in Florence with his two rich and powerful spouses? Piero may be lame, but he is not so stupid as to pass up as good an opportunity as that.

Contessina and Lucrezia are going through the jewels Clarice brought with her when she came from Rome, trying to find pieces which will go well with what they have. Clarice thinks but does not dare voice her opinion that she would prefer simple flowers and a wedding in a simple country church.

She thinks Lucrezia knows, her soon to be mother in law smiling at her and telling her she can go and spend some time in the library if she wishes.

Lorenzo and Francesco are waiting for her there when she arrives. Both of them are pouring over books in politics and art, the heavy tomes placed carefully to one side when they see her enter.

There is no need for conversation, no burning desire to talk. All she wants is to see the two people she will spend the rest of her life with and to watch the afternoon turn to evening with them by her side.

* * *

The wedding is an unsurprisingly flashy affair. All of the nobles of Florence have gathered to watch as the young Medici manages to rewrite the rules of society for his benefit.

For what it is worth, the young Medici pays them no mind, too enthralled by the feeling of his spouses’ hands clasped in his own to feel any sort of fear for what anyone else might think. He focuses on saying his vows properly, on smiling when he is meant to and on looking like he is actually paying attention, rather than smiling like an idiot.

Personally, he is far more at ease when he reaches the palazzo and his mother is directing the festivities of his wedding feast. Here he look at Francesco and Clarice with unbridled joy and no one will think any less of him. Clarice appears to be trying her best to make conversation with Lucrezia Donati, the young wife of an older Florentine. The brunette smiles sweetly at the young Roman, her hands held out in friendship as the two women begin to walk around the garden and make conversation with the guests.

Francesco seems to be staying as close to his mother in law as he possibly can. Fortunately for him, his taciturn nature is well known in Florence, and so no strangers are doing more than offering their congratulations upon his nuptials.

Lorenzo closes his eyes for a moment and thanks all the forces in the universe for giving him this day.


End file.
